The Liar's Looking Glass
by Riversound
Summary: 'It's hard to see the future with tears in your eyes, and Myles is afraid that his family will go completely blind.' How can you cope with tragedy when you deny that it ever happened?


'It's hard to see the future with tears in your eyes.' -Wilma Mankiller

The first time Myles saw those words, he was far too young to truly understand them.

The day was warm, too warm for his tastes. It was also humid, which he liked even less, without so much as a slight breeze to stir the mucky air. There weren't any birds to be heard, the sun beat down in a way that would require copious amounts of greasy sunscreen to combat,

Even at four years old he was quite attuned to his personal likes and dislikes. He liked cool temperatures, his brothers, books, and bright colors. He disliked heat, mall trips, Beckett's tendency toward cowboy games, and the way that Artemis sometimes started staring into the distance, lightly tapping on the table, and couldn't seem to come back properly to reality unless one's voice was raised. Those moments were also beyond his full comprehension at such an age, a juvenile mind lacking in the emotional experience to comprehend what thoughts were spinning behind his brother's mismatched eyes.

In any case, he maneuvered his schedule according to these predilections. Of course, he often could not get around things like eating his mother's tater tot hotdish, which, despite his complete and utter disgust with the taste and texture, he was required to eat before leaving the dinner table, but in his free time he made quite certain that his situation suited his preferences.

Like that day.

The entirety of the manor was chill despite the temperature outdoors, but Myles had found that the library was ever so slightly cooler. It also helped that in the library he was surrounded by books.

Where his brother may be inclined toward paintings and arts of that sort, Myles's father loved books. Back around the time when he and Angeline had married, when he had been so much more carefree than the man that Artemis II would grow up with, he had devoted an entire section of the manor to them. There he kept books of every kind- nonfiction to fantasy and everything in between. Cookbooks, novels, how-to's, documentations, it didn't matter. Artemis I would read it.

Over time the books accumulated, as new tomes flooded in to join the old, and for a long time the library was a happy place. Artemis and Angeline would curl up together in a corner, and they would spend hours taking turns reading aloud and coaxing the tales from the page to the air. It made no difference that there were only two of them. The library, for all its size, was filled with life.

And then the business started going downward. Artemis I spent less and less time in his beloved library, and gradually the life of the place began to fade. Even several years later, when pudgy fingers of a young child ran across the spines and drew brighter, cleaner lines through the dust and cold and silence that had settled throughout the once cheery hall, that small bit of hope was not enough to revive the joy that had once resided there. That child was soon dimmed in soul himself, forced into his father's role, and the library lay abandoned.

Until Artemis I's return.

Yet even then, the spirit was slow in returning. Even after years of more dusting, and caring, and reading, and rekindled love of the written word, the library still felt vaguely empty, lacking just that little bit of life that might restore it. Perhaps that lack of light was why the library felt cooler.

Myles, of course, knew none of this. All he knew was that the library's air felt better than the air in any other available setting, and he would like to be comfortable, thank you very much.

So he trotted between the soaring wooden shelves, soft footsteps sending up small puffs of dust that swirled and caught the golden sunlight creeping tentatively in through the window. He, like his brother before him, skimmed his fingertips across the bindings of the books and brought away just a little bit more of the dust and loneliness. He read off some of the titles as he walked by them, rattling off the ones that he found to be interesting. His journey took him through a fantasy aisle, past a geometry shelf, and into a maze of nonfiction books that, despite not being labeled, had once been carefully organized by the dewey decimal system.

He continued murmuring titles to himself, waiting for something that would capture his interest, and his eye was quickly caught by a volume, about two hundred pages thick, with a spine of a dappled red pattern. He slid it out from between its neighbors, tried to get the dust off by blowing before he remembered that that didn't work in real life, then used the loose fabric of his shirt to brush it away.

He wouldn't remember much of it later, other than the fact that it was a book about Native American culture and the words. He would remember them, the wise sayings of a man long dead. Myles was clever, and he remembered enough from Artemis II's lessons to proudly recognize the sentence as figurative language, but there was nothing beyond that.

No. He wouldn't remember or wonder anything from that day, beyond those words that he could not understand.

The next time he saw the words was on a family trip.

He was seven years old then, and old enough to puzzle out the metaphor. He had inherited much of the same sharp intelligence of his older brother, and could make sense of it to a semblance of recognition, but he still did not truly comprehend it.

They were taking a long vacation, long enough to make their way almost all the way throughout North America before circling back and tracing a route around Europe as well. Myles estimated that it would be a year or longer before they made it home again for more than a few days' break from their travels. It was justified, though. This was their celebration.

Four years. For four years now Artemis had been able to stare the number four in the face without going pale or drumming his fingers. It had been a long and excruciating process to draw the full story out of their parents, of the things Artemis did right and the many he did wrong, of the People and the Atlantis Complex, but things began to make more sense as soon as Myles had all of the pieces.

What still confused him, though, was how to think of his brother's age. If taken from the day he was born, Artemis was twenty-two. In what he had actually experienced, though, and how his body appeared, he was nineteen. Myles was fairly certain that he should count by how old Artemis the living being was, not whatever age may be supported by his birth certificate, but it still sometimes sent his mind spiraling in lopsided loops until he started thinking about something else.

The words came when they were in South Dakota, in the US, at a memorial for a Native American man. The statue was enormous beyond description, which was why they went, and they happened to arrive in time to see the light show.

The statue was carved out of a mountain, and only the man's head was finished, so the lasers were cast on the flattened stone beneath. Most of it was of little interest, music and pictures, with the odd quote thrown in. That was how he saw the words.

He didn't have his own tears, not yet, so he couldn't identify with the glowing text displayed on the mountainside. He may think he did, and he may understand the message, but it was still beyond him.

That would change.

The first time he understood was when he was twelve years old.

By then the library had come once more to life, and like a flash that life was ripped away again. Myles's fingers still brushed the books, but they were tainted with grief, stealing not dust but the light that had been so hard to attain. The whole house seemed to lose its light, actually, every occupant aged beyond what they seemed by tragedy.

In returning from a trip to Paris, Artemis and Angeline Fowl's plane's engine caught fire. Artemis had, by some miracle, survived despite his past injuries, and entered a coma. But Angeline...

Angeline...

Artemis Junior took control of the family business, juggling care of his brothers and keeping of finances all at once. At twenty-four/twenty-seven (Myles still couldn't decide which to use) he was the head of the family- but he had two more people to keep track of than when he was twelve. While they got by without trouble, Myles could see the weariness in his brother's eyes.

It was also around that time that he met the blonde-haired girl.

She appeared out of seemingly nowhere, driving a tiny eco-car up to the manor gates one day and standing in the best possible location to be seen by every camera. Myles happened to be in the adjacent room to the foyer when Butler, unbeknownst to Artemis, allowed the girl inside. Then Artemis wandered in, poised with an open book in hand, and Myles was treated to possibly the most entertaining expression he had ever seen on his brother's face.

The book's pages fanned outward, tipping precariously from their perch between pianist's fingers as Artemis's grip slackened. His jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide, his shoulders went funny like surprised people's shoulders do, and- and this was Myles's favorite part -a single syllable escaped his mouth.

"...Eh?"

Myles took great glee in that.

Artemis quickly composed himself, but even then Myles could sense and underlying uncertainty.

"Minerva Paradizo," he said, and if Myles didn't know better he would think it was a question. The girl smiled, just smiled, and something about Artemis changed in a new, beautiful, wonderful way.

"Artemis Fowl," she said with that amazing healing smile in even her voice, golden hair curling perfectly around her shoulders, eyes bright and holding all the life in the world, and at that moment Myles decided that she and his brother absolutely must get married, and that he would ensure that it happened one way or another.

Because she was the one who could clear the tears from Artemis's eyes, and Myles wanted that more than anything.

Even the golden-haired girl's eyes gained tears two years later, though, when Artemis I passed, and Myles knew, just knew that unless something good happened soon, they would all go forever blind.

What had happened to Beckett?

Myles stared wide-eyed at his brother who, with shining eyes, had just slapped away his questioning hand. Where did he go, Myles wondered? Where was the boy who so happily dug through dirt and called Artemis a simple-toon and ran shouting through the house with nothing but a diaper and his mother's lipstick smeared cartoonishly across his face? Where did that boy go, and when had he been replaced by this angry teen who pushed away every attempt at understanding?

"I don't want you!"

Myles cradled his bruised hand to his chest and felt wetness on his cheeks and realized that he was crying too. "Beck-"

"Shut up! Just shut up! It's all your fault!"

"My fault?" Blinking dumbly, Myles edged back. Becket was storming, raging, pressing in, in his face and yelling yelling yelling.

"They would have gone to London if you hadn't mentioned France at dinner! It's your fault they're dead! It's all your fault, Myles!"

And Myles couldn't argue as his brother swept out of the room, because he remembered that night in the kitchen where, over mashed potatoes and pot roast, he suggested they go to Paris. He didn't know what had made him say it, as the sharp ceiling lights cast sharper shadows beneath the cutlery, and crickets chirped because it was late, and Mum laughed happily about some joke Dad told, but he had said it, and they had listened. They had listened and they had died.

Beckett was right. It was his fault.

Artemis and Minerva's voices were yelling, angry, like Beckett's voice had been, and as Myles listened from his position crouched next to the air vent with the threads of the carpet pressing a rough pattern into his knees, he wanted to weep. They were yelling about Beckett, and how he had upped and disappeared overnight with nothing but a shouted declaration of hatred for all of them, and Myles knew it was his fault, all of it. Beckett, Mum, Dad. He had driven his family apart, and now he was destroying Artemis and Minerva too.

He rose shakily to his feet and shuffled to his bedroom, where he sat on the bed and stared at nothing.

"Where's your brother?"

The question was innocent, curious and nothing more. Myles stared dully at the girl, his classmate, who stood before him with an inquiring expression.

"I realize I shouldn't be prying," she said quickly tucking a strand of thin red hair behind her ear, hair that was so unevenly cut that it looked as though a small child had made an effort to turn it into something layered and used squiggly scissors in the attempt, "but I've just noticed that he's been absent for a few days. Is he sick?"

Myles added a few new lines to the paper in front of him, letters that were more automatic than thoughtful. "No."

The girl (What was her name? He couldn't remember.) waited for him to say more. When nothing was forthcoming, she asked, "Is he traveling?"

There was a pause as Myles considered the question. Beckett certainly wasn't home, so traveling was a way to put it.

"Yes," he said, and he met the girl's eyes steadily. "He's traveling." And she smiled, and said 'oh,' and walked away, and Myles returned to the mindless words he filled in on the homework sheet. Yes, he thought as lead smeared across the page, pulled in jagged directions by sudden drips of water on the paper. Beckett is traveling.

"I know he's not just traveling."

It was weeks after their conversation previously, and Myles had to think for a moment to remember what the girl was talking about. When he did, a slight thrill of panic shot through him. He was a good actor though, so he managed to keep a straight face.

"What do you mean?"

The girl's face was stony and cold. "I know he's not traveling. Your brother. Nobody travels this long while they're still in school."

"Beck is just very far away." Myles wasn't sure about that, but he wasn't sure otherwise, so technically it wasn't a lie. He tapped his fingers on the hard table, and just for the heck of it, he counted to twenty. Maybe Atlantis's twisted version of luck would help him, because the library in which he sat certainly did not make him feel as good as it used to. There was so little adventure in books when you couldn't bring yourself to pull them out of their little nests on the shelves, which Myles didn't because, though it seemed silly when he thought about it, it felt like he was tearing apart a little paper family. He didn't want to do that, and relied on the calm silence of the library to help him. It didn't always work,not anymore.

"Very far away," he said again, softly, and something in the girl's eyes darkened. She slammed her palms on the table, shoved Myles's papers aside, and shoved her nose right up to his.

_-in his face and yelling yelling yelling-_

"He's dead, isn't he," she said lowly, and Myles shoved her away.

"No!"

Nononononononononono.

"No! He's not! He's not dead!"

_Can't be, won't be, shouldn't be, oh, don't let yourself think like that Myles, he's fine, I'm sure, not dead, not dead, never dead, not Beck, don't think like that because he's notnotnot, he wouldn't, wouldn't leave, couldn't leave, won't leave, he'll live, you see, don't worry, but he's all alone! All alone!_

He was breathing heavily, and she looked scared, and she ran away from him, just like Beckett did, just like everyone did, because it was all his fault wasn't it? He drove people away, and she was just one more to add the list, because Mum and Dad and Beck had already gone, and now this girl, and now he was driving Minerva away, wasn't he?

He gathered up his things as the bell rang, and for the first time didn't go straight to class. He fought his way through the packed halls, gathered everything from his locker, and slipped out a side door. He had no destination in mind, but that was okay. Did Beckett?

The words didn't enter his mind until he was standing atop the hill that afforded him a view of the entire town, with grass soft beneath his feet, and tall pine trees that surrounded him with a forced quiet. When they did, he laughed bitterly. He laughed, breaking that quiet, and that laugh grew, from his throat to his chest to his belly to his whole body quaking with laughter.

"I'm blind!" He shouted it with a psychotic sort of joy. "I'm lost in my past and I can't see the now!" The laughter continued to roll out of him, flowing outward across the air and above this little town that Artemis Senior and Angeline had sent him and Beckett to for school rather than Saint Bartleby's or a city. Something about the quiet life, and Myles only laughed harder, because how in the hell was his life quiet?

"I'm completely and utterly blind!"

And then the tears came, the real ones not contained by a metaphor, and somehow he cried at the same time as he laughed, because it was so damned funny and somehow so terrifying. And when had he fallen to his knees? The rough texture of the grass brought back thoughts of carpet and arguments, and he cried harder because everything was so messed up, so terrible, so wrong.

"I want to see," he whispered before he knew he was going say anything, and then realized that the words were true. "I want to see," he repeated, a little louder, then threw his head back and screamed to the gray, clouded sky.

"I want to see! I want to let go! I want to be happy! I WANT TO LIVE!"

And the sky answered with a roll of thunder and a droplet of rain, a drop that was not followed by anything more. It slid down and merged with the tear trails on Myles's cheeks, cool against his heated skin, and he laughed again. This time, though, it was a relieved laugh, because he had finally gotten something right.

"I want to live!"

"You need to ask her, now!"

One hand braced against the doorframe, the other on his knee, Myles's breaths came hard. Artemis and Minerva, curled up on the couch reading, looked up with nearly identical expressions of surprise.

"What?"

Myles wasn't sure who had asked, and he didn't really care. "Artemis, I know you've been wanting to ask her. Do it!"

"Ask who?" That was Minerva."

"You! He needs to ask you, dang it! Do it! I know you carry that thing around, and it won't be worth much unless you get up your stupid courage and ask already!"

"Myles, I really don't-"

"Damn it! We need something happy to happen around here! A wedding would-"

"A wedding? What wedding? Artemis, what's he talking about?"

"Wow, for a genius you really are dumb-"

"Myles, I don't think-"

"Come on!"

"Artemis, what aren't you telling me?"

"Just do it already!"

"I-"

"We need this!"

"Myles, what are you-"

"Artemis!"

"I-"

"Arty-"

"ALRIGHT!"

Myles grinned and punched a fist in the air. "Yeah! We're gonna have ourselves a wedding!"

The minutes that followed will be left up to the imagination. There is little that can properly describe a proposal like this one, other than the simple word 'joy' and the less simple word 'love.' For just that little while they all forgot about the tragedies, and the partings, and their misted eyes. For just that small while they could see clearly, could_ live_. And for just a few minutes the three of them were a family all their own, and they didn't require anyone else.

The fairies showed up for the wedding.

For Myles, it was meeting them all for the first time. He recognized them from the stories- Holly (auburn hair), Mulch (the beard was unmistakable), and Foaly (hooves gave it all away). They talked with Artemis and Minerva for a while, catching up on all that had happened in the years since they had seen each other, and Myles just sat and watched and observed. The dwarf, as soon as the ceremony was concluded, made a beeline for whatever food he could get his hands on, while Holly and Foaly stayed behind to talk some more.

It was interesting, watching his brother and his old friends interact, especially when aforementioned friends spoke with Minerva. Time may have smoothed much over, but it had not healed all wounds. Not the rift caused by Minerva's kidnapping ventures, and not Beckett's disappearance either.

Myles would like to say that he took Beckett's absence like a man, but that would be a lie, and he was trying to be more honest. He cried a bit. That was okay, though, because it was a wedding and people were supposed to cry. He certainly wasn't alone- on the other side of the aisle several of Minerva's relatives wept too.

Yes, he wished that Beckett were there, but he also was able to be happy. Was this what moving on felt like? He smiled a bit to himself. Looking forward clearly was nice.

Everything that happened that day was fast and intense, filling every available sensory receptor with a whirlwind of sight, taste, smell, sound, and emotion that sent his mind awhirl. He didn't remember much of it clearly afterward, lost in a colorful streak of mental data, but he did remember lots and lots of cheers and an overwhelming feeling of love.

If this was moving on, maybe he could let them go.

"Where is he really?"

"Dead," said Myles quietly, staring her in the eye. The girl looked resigned, but not surprised. Around them the hallways buzzed with activity, shouts and slammed lockers, rustled papers shoved roughly into backpacks. Nobody nearby noticed or bothered to listen to their conversation, too lost in their own lives and thoughts and troubles. Sometimes Myles wondered if they would ever truly look around themselves and take note of their surroundings. It seemed like an impossible thing to ask.

"How long?"

"Two months," he said flatly. "He ran away from home and got hit by a delivery truck fifty feet from our gate."

The girl smiled a forced smile, and gave him a murmured thank-you. She turned away, seemingly to leave, and Myles noticed that her hair had been evened. Before she vanished into the crowd again, though, she told him one more thing.

"My name is Catherine."

She walked away, and he never saw her again. And that was okay.

Why do we lie?

Some people lie to gain. It doesn't matter what they aim to achieve- work, social status, ego. The important thing is that they lie to further themselves.

Some people lie because they find it fun. The deception and the maintaining of that deception is a thrill, watching people run around under their thumb is amusing, they enjoy dishonesty.

Some people lie to cover up a mistake, like neglecting to mark an answer wrong on the math test that the teacher allowed you to correct for yourself.

And some people lie because anything else is unthinkable, like accepting that your family is ticking down in numbers one by one. That was what Myles did. He lied to himself, clutching tightly the illusion that his brother had not passed but was alive somewhere out there, and would come home soon, really. It took a girl with chopped red hair, persistence, and a question that he couldn't answer to bring him back to reality.

And now, as he stood staring at the heavy iron gates outside Fowl Manor, he made himself a promise. No more lies, not to himself, to Artemis, or Minerva, or anyone. They had done nothing for him, brought him nowhere, given him nothing but sorrow. On that spot, with smooth black tar beneath his feet and still, quiet air around him, Myles Fowl began anew.

_It's hard to see the future with tears in your eyes._

He turned his gaze ahead, stepped forward, and saw.


End file.
